


Startide Rising

by bluelina



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, OC, Vulcans and Humans mixing race is more common than in canon, also its mostly reboot canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-08 10:37:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1937715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluelina/pseuds/bluelina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is basically a really extended Star Trek AU for the original character from a story I'm writing with a few friends. Plot bunnies just kept collecting until I put them all together. MovieVerse, Canon Divergence, etc</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She was Tatiana DuBois, her name a relic of a time long past. She was the Second Officer aboard the USS Enterprise beneath Spock (First Officer) and James Kirk (Captain) and under Dr. McCoy as a medical officer. She had a grasp on many languages (Standard and Vulcan being her primary ones) as well as senior first aid certification from her extensive travels before entering the Academy, where she had been just as detached and closed off from personal contact as she was on the ship. Her life was meticulously organized and compartmentalized, her physical and emotional control as good as any full-blooded Vulcan’s. Which, many would say, was the biggest put-off and her greatest problem. She was too cut off from emotions, too pragmatic and logical. She could understand emotion quite well but this self-enforced exile created a rift between her and most of the rest of the crew (not that this was the worst consequence of her detachment). 

The Enterprise didn’t have the most diverse crew, but even her First Officer had picked up some human habits and let his shell of ice melt slightly. Most of the crew agreed that this was because of the personal influence of their Captain whose relationship with Mr. Spock was not to be discussed in company. Most of them saw everything that what was going on, but agreed that their Captain and First Officer were still working things out and did not say anything in either of their presences. 

The level of camaraderie that existed between the crew that had survived and defeated Nero had soon spread to most the new recruits; the atmosphere of the ship was really quite relaxed (also the fault of the Captain, many would say, and his lack of regard for decorum), though everyone knew exactly what the chain of command was and where the line was. They were careful around Spock (excepting Dr. McCoy and the Captain, but the reasons for that were quite obvious) and even more so around Tatiana. That is, until they realized that she didn’t really care what they said or did pretty much as long as it did not involve her, they weren’t that stupid.

That was on a good day. But on a bad day she was curt, brutal, and blunt. Any accidental brushes or hands on her shoulder, even from those of equal rank were violently shrugged off and met with a icy glare of her pale eyes. This was such a day, and Chekov, who was sent to retrieve her to the bridge felt like he was walking on ice. A few passing crew members from engineering snickered conspiratorially, while they were still out of hearing range from the Second Officer and crowed,

“Good luck with the Ice Princess. She’s in quite a mood today.”

He shushed them and nervously skittered the last few dozen steps to stand behind her. he cleared his throat.

“Excuse me? Mees? The Keptin requests... your prezence on the breedge,” he managed to choke out after making a few false starts. “We are coming up on sewenty-two Pegasi D and he wants to discuss someting with you before we come out of warp,” he kept on going, starting to babble as he stared at the tips of his standard issue boots. When he glanced up he was met with an icy glare as she turned which only softened slightly when she recognized him. She must have been quite far into her thoughts to be so distracted as to not recognize his very distinctive accent. For reasons unknown to anyone on the ship she had a soft spot for Chekov, though only those who knew her very well (as well as it was possible to know her) would see the slight variations in her actions and expressions that would indicate her, for lack of a better word, fondness.

Her face was once again a cold mask of control as she replied,

“I will be there shortly Mr. Chekov, thank you,” she said tightly, turning away as her face contorted with emotion. Chekov was surprised at such a display, it was not like her to let emotions control her like that. He resolved to ask Sulu if he had heard anything from Spock about her. Not that anyone, especially the First Officer, would admit to gossiping about a fellow crew-mate, but he hoped maybe Spock would have been able to read something in her that nobody else had. All previous attempts had failed, she did not rise to any jibes, nor smile when occasion seemed to call for it. The jilted irritation seemed her only response to tense or annoying situations. She remained just as stony-faced through catastrophe and happy miracles; her mask never lifted for anyone.

He knew he shouldn’t be afraid of her, more less be trying to dig up information on her, but seriously, no-one even knew her age! He doubted she was much older than him, though during more lengthy missions when she didn’t allow herself sleep in favor of looking over data again (there was a completely reasonable explanation as to how he knew this) stress made her look much older. She worked herself too hard. Most of them didn’t notice it, or just assumed that she had to put all the energy she didn’t expend socially somewhere.

He shook his head to dislodge this strange train of thought as he made his way to the transporter room to make sure Scotty had all the information he needed about their point of landing and surroundings. They were beaming down on a small planet that had be settled by a group of colonists, Vulcan colonists actually, shortly before Nero’s destruction of their planet. They had not been responding to several checkups and Spock personally assured (what was left of) the Vulcan High Council that he would investigate and report. This would not be the first time a group of colonists on a distant moon or planet had troubles, but here it seemed as though they had simply disappeared.

“What’s on your mind, laddie?” Scotty’s voice rang out as Chekov’s feet steered him automatically into the transporter room, “This place is a paradise, I tell ye! You lucky bastards get another shore leave, looks like!”

“I suppose... Just something feels off. I don’t know vat.”

“Nerves? I would think you’d have gotten used to it. No selkies or merrows in those purple oceans,” Scotty chuckled, “just coral.”

“No, nothing like zat. Just... nevermind. Like when I see something at the edge of my eye but I turn and its gone.”

“Just tell me if that turns out to be our lost colonists. Maybe they’ve managed to turn themselves invisible.” Scotty seemed to be in an extraordinarily good mood considering he wasn’t on the away team.

“That is highly improbably and it still would not explain the fact that the colonists have failed to respond to any of our transmissions Mr. Scott.” This was as close to announcing his presence as Spock was ever going to get.

Scotty and Chekov both started, turning to face their First Officer (and sometimes, friend).

“Everthin’s ready Mr. Spock,” Scotty reported, “engine’s purring like a kitten.”

“Thank you Mr. Scott. And you have checked the coordinates?” He continued, facing Chekov.

“Aye Commander,” Chekov nodded, “There seems to be a low energy field of sorts on the surface, but nothing that should interfere with communications or transport.”

Kirk entered the room loudly recalling some humorous anecdote to Tatiana, which was about as successful an idea as trying to sell a muffler to an Andorian rock slug. She looked highly uncomfortable and Chekov somehow doubted that it was because of the Captain’s crude sense of humor. He clapped her on the shoulder before heading over to the rest of his landing party. She not only didn’t react, other than flinching, but she seemed to by trying to make herself smaller and attract less attention. There was definitely something wrong.

“DuBois here says that she visited this planet a few years ago and the colonists were quite fine, other than a shortage of, what was it you said?” He drawled, turning back to face her.

“Basil,” she replied looking slightly sick. When she noticed Chekov looking at her in concern she slammed her mask back on and was the perfect picture of indifference. No-one else seemed to have noticed, though when Chekov turned back to the group he was met by Spock’s uplifted eyebrow, not the why-were-you-staring-at-your-superior-officer eyebrow that he had been expecting but simply one expressing curiosity. Chekov shrugged and busied himself helping Scotty type in coordinates as she slipped away into the corridor.

When Tatiana returned she was accompanied by the last member of their landing party, a girl from engineering, Sarai, one of the newer crew who Scotty had picked out to go down to the planet in his absence. He had to be up here in case they “screwed things up royally and needed a prompt rescue” was his wording, not exactly, but quite close.

Chekov heard the hiss of a hypo and an indignant, “Ouch!” as Kirk clapped his hand to his neck. Tatiana, hypo still in hand, with an expression that could possibly be a smirk explained,

“Dr. McCoy sends his greetings.”

“What was that for?” still indignant.

“He also asks you to recall an incident when your hands swelled to twice their original size?” she replied copying Spock’s curious eyebrow.

“Fine,” he grumbled, walking up to the beaming platforms.

“Anyone else have a ridiculous amount of allergies I need to know about?”

The rest of the away team followed suit. She could look pretty threatening with a hypo in hand.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bear with me, I wasn't quite sure where to cut off the chapters...

Everyone was assembled, all last checks performed, and with Kirk’s command of, “Energize!” the away team was beamed onto the surface of 72 Pegasi D. As the silver sparks disappeared and their eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness the team found themselves separated by a green stone wall. Kirk and Spock with Sarai, and Chekov with Tatiana. Kirk thumbed the communicator on his lapel and demanded,

“Chekov! You said the area was clear! What are these?”

“Eet was, Keptin. The scan indicated sandy beaches and hills, not this...”

And here the communication cut off. Both Kirk and Chekov tried to re-establish contact, with each other, and with the ship, but in vain. Kirk shouted at the wall to keep going and try to find the end, but there was no answer. Tatiana stood rooted to the spot by shock. Chekov had to give her a shake before she staggered, blinking and shook her head.

“Sorry, just this place, it’s like someone’s shouting telepathically at me.”

“Telepatically?” Chekov was still trying to adjust to the sudden darkness.

“I’m part Vulcan.” she replied curtly, staring at the walls, trying to make something out.

“I am sorry. Did you have relations there?”

“Only one family member that mattered, the rest hated me. Her name was T’rena.”

They stood in silence for a few moments, adjusting physically and mentally.

“Can you hear what the woices are saying? Are they the colonists?” Good job Chekov, good change of subject, very subtle.

“I... they’re... I’m not sure. Some of them sound incredibly angry, but some sound scared and frantic.” Her eyes were closed  
in concentration. “I’ve never been able to hear anyone very clearly, just like my ears and skin aren’t noticeably Vulcan. He would have been able to though. It’s all so fuzzy.”

Suddenly her head jerked up and her eyes shot open.

“Tanya?”

Chekov glanced around wildly, the voice sounded like it had come from right behind him. Tatiana had run off, presumably  
in search of the voice and he followed. The path led in only one direction and she had been behind him. This is a labyrinth, he concluded as he ran, though he was sure Kirk would have insisted it was a maze. He caught sight of her behind the third bend, she had stopped, turned around and was looking at him with wild eyes, full of shock and, was it hope? She turned back toward the path and called out, 

“Dima?”

“Tanya!” the answer quickly followed, like some insane game of Marco Polo.

Chekov stumbled to a stop when he recognized the intonations in her vowels, they were unlike anything he had heard from someone who grew up speaking Standard. But he didn’t have much time to think about it as Tatiana disappeared behind the next bend, following the creepy disembodied voice that was calling her by the Russian diminutive of her name. Once again he began running; he knew it was wrong to assume nationality by name, if humans had intermarried with Vulcans for god’s sake who knows what a Chinese last name might mean in Australia! He had assumed she was of French descent from her last name but now he had to reconsider.

That thought was also cut off as soon as he reached the next bend. She was standing in a clearing of the labyrinth where three paths met. Ok, nevermind, not a labyrinth anymore. Once again she hesitated, then plunged into the right hand path which became a tunnel. They hadn’t been able to see much more than darkness above, but even so it was comforting. Chekov didn’t hesitate as he ripped off his command insignia and threw it down at the entrance of the tunnel to mark their way, in case the rest of the landing party was farther down the second path, which he hoped to god they were.

As soon as he entered the tunnel the walls shifted and the new tunnel now led directly parallel to the one he and Tatiana had taken. When the rest of their motley crew found their way down the new corridor Spock bent down to pick up Chekov’s insignia and held it out to his Captain.

“Chekov’s pin. He must have wanted to point us the right way. This way,” Kirk set off with renewed spirits, followed closely by Spock and Sarai who had taken out her tricorder in case anyone was hurt; after all, Chekov and the Second Officer hadn’t stop to wait for them, maybe they were being chased?

After a few bends suddenly the wall turned transparent and they could see into the tunnel running parallel to them. Chekov had been stopped short by a piece of the now transparent wall that appeared and separated him and Tatiana. She was slumped against the other side of this short stretch of wall, but he had run his hands over it and he swore, there was some kind of mechanism there, so he went to work trying to unlock the ‘door’. 

When Kirk, Spock and Sarai reached the transparent stretch of wall they froze. Sarai started forward towards her patient, but ran tricorder-first into the wall. Kirk caught and steadied her, running his hands over the wall. The smooth-looking stone walls were an illusion, for he felt cold metal, joints and rivets. When he put his ear to the wall he heard metallic clicking, like some strange old-fashioned mechanism.

Spock knocked on the wall, both ascertaining Kirk’s theories and trying to get the attention of either of their crew members. Chekov looked up and pointed at Tatiana, indicating this part of the wall was different. He stood up briefly and tried to talk to Spock but almost nothing could be heard through the thick walls. He went back to work on the mechanism in the door, unrolling his PADD and sticking it onto the metal surface, eyes flicking back and forth as he read line upon line of scrolling data.

The away team presently heard footsteps, but the second it took them to realize that the walls were letting through sound, a figure strode into view. He was quite clearly dead: his skin was sallow and sickly, his eyes were sunken into his skull and his movements were very restricted, like a puppet’s. If he had stood still long enough they would have found out he had no pulse or breath. He was on Tatiana’s side of the ‘door’, and separated from the Captain by the wall he had been examining.

He turned, head lolling, to face the Captain and began to speak. The voice was not his, the mouth moved in a grotesque imitation of speech, but it was clear the voice was coming from somewhere else.

“Greetings, James Tiberius Kirk. We noticed your presence in space above us and prepared this scene especially for you,” here the dead man gestured both his hands to the walls around him, “is it to your liking?”

“To my liking?” Kirk repeated, dumbfounded, clearly he had expected something else.

Spock took advantage of the Captain’s confusion to walk further down the transparent stretch of wall towards the dead man, trailing his hand against the wall and asking,

“What do you mean, scene?”

The corpse turned to face Spock, eyes staring blankly forward, like a blind man’s.

“You will soon see. She here,” he pointed at Tatiana, who was starting to stir, “is the player. This is all the stage.” Once again he gestured around him, “Now we better set the scene, she is awakening.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of the canon divergence was diversity. I know there had to be a ton of bio-engineering so that Spock could be born, but let's just accept the fact that maybe then it kept happening? Let's just go with the fact that humans and Vulcans are closer than in canon...  
> Basically in my original story Tanya has psychic powers and I wanted to give her something similar here, as I'm adding similar aspects from my old story. Mostly familial relationships and personality traits


	3. Chapter 3

The corpse collapsed to the floor in a corner of the room, to all intents and purposes, dead as a doornail. The captain and his first officer exchanged glances before Tatiana sprung up, evidently expecting to find her assaulter. She glanced quickly around the room and furrowed her brows in confusion.

“As she is not addressing us we can assume she doesn’t see...” Spock got only this far before he was shushed from both sides. The play was beginning, and no-one could take their eyes off the action on the stage, even Chekov temporarily stopped trying to hack the door as Tatiana gasped and ran towards the body, shaking, shouting in fluent Russian.

“Дима! Дима очнись! Что они с тобой зделали?” She shook the corpse and held her fingers to his throat to check for pulse, which she evidently found as her attempts to awaken the dead man redoubled.

“Illusions,” Kirk cursed, striking the walls with his fist as Spock dug through their packs for the universal translator. The device, once found turned on with a click and began to translate in a male voice. In their moment of distraction the body had awoken and begun speaking in that same disembodied voice, but this time in Russian.

*Tanya? What are you doing here?* The corpse held a hand to its head as if it had been knocked out as well, and Tatiana cradled his head in her lap, sensing nothing wrong and seeing exactly what was being shown her.

*I know He told me never to return; he threatened to kill you. But I had to come down with the landing party. The Captain would have been suspicious if I hadn’t, and I was so worried about you!* Her face twisted into fear, then anxiety and worry.

The body stood up, leaning on the wall, still holding a hand to its head. Tatiana hovered, then when she was convinced ‘Dima’ could stand on his own she started examining the walls.

The body turned to Kirk with a smirk.

“This is where the fun begins.” Tatiana didn’t respond, she seemed to have found something in the wall Chekov was sitting by that was different, and she reached for her tricorder, for anything, and coming up with a nothing started turning around. The away team stared in horrified stupor as the body, leering, threw Tatiana back against the wall she had been examining.

*Dima! What are you doing?* The poor girl didn’t know she was being played with. Shock and hurt chased each other across her face. Kirk yelled for Chekov to “open the goddamn door” and Spock stood rooted to the spot, trying to understand the situation and find a way out. They were evidently very close, siblings probably if their resemblance is not an illusion as well.

*You left me here to the mercy of this monster!* ‘Dima’ was shouting, his face contorted and straining with the effort, tearing his dead frozen muscles.

Tanya flinched violently, her hands automatically flying up to cover her head as the body moved towards her.

*You told me to leave! You were giving me a chance to escape!* Hands slightly lowered she pleaded to the dead man, her emotions flowing over them all in waves, their intensity forcing them to their knees.

*Do you know what he did to me? Saving your miserable life was never worth that much agony!* He brought his head down to her level, stooping to place a rotten finger on her chin, forcing her to look him straight in his unseeing eyes. *You never stood up to father for me, you never even lifted a finger as he hurt me.*

Tears flowed down her face as her mouth moved soundlessly. Shame suffused the air, shame and grief.

*But you said...* She couldn’t even complete the thought before ‘Dima’ yanked her up from the ground and punched her, letting her absorb the fall back into the corner with her head as she automatically jerked away.

The corpse turned back to the landing party with that smirk that had become a grimace from the contortion of the facial muscles.

“Like what you see Captain? Your young stoic officer, not even defending herself from an enemy’s blows.” To demonstrate this point he kicked Tatiana in the side, preventing her from getting back up.

“She talks too much, don’t you think?” ‘Dima’ glanced at her, kicking her again for good measure, knocking the breath out of her as she tried to speak.

Sarai was curled up on the floor with her hands over her ears. Spock had almost forgotten she was an empath. His mind was split between too many tasks! Tatiana was in his head as well, confirming his suspicions of her Vulcan ancestry. All the emotions were too loud and he couldn’t block them out like he was used to. Where was the solution?

*Why are you doing this?* Tanya coughed out, gasping, along with some blood. The corpse turned to shut her up again but suddenly Chekov was there, wielding his tricorder like a (very short) club. It collided with ‘Dima’s’ head and the spell was broken. The transparent ‘walls’ seemed to melt away and Kirk ran to help subdue the walking dead man. Spock rushed over to help Tanya as Sarai still seemed to be overwhelmed by all the emotions, though she should have been able to get on a grip on it like he had. But there was no time for such deliberations. His own tricorder told him Tatiana had two fractured ribs and a punctured lung. She had to be taken back to the ship’s infirmary immediately.

The corpse (or the entity controlling it) seemed to recognize defeat and collapsed, screaming. When both the gold shirts once again ascertained it was, in fact, dead, they sprung back up to check the walls hadn’t returned to their illusion of solidity. Spock called Chekov over to Tatiana, she was in stable condition, warning him not to make any sudden movements. Sarai, on the other hand, was still curled up on the floor with her hands over her ears. He was at her side and checking her vitals, confused as to why she hadn’t yet started recovering from the emotional onslaught. She was perfectly healthy physically.

Kirk was trying to contact the ship and failing. Spock was trying to calm an empath without overwhelming her even more with his touch. Chekov was helplessly cradling Tatiana, who was still coughing up blood and in shock. The immediate danger had passed but they were still just as worse off.

Suddenly Sarai sat straight up and grabbed onto Spock’s shoulders.

“So much anger. And raw madness.” She looked him right in the eyes, trying to impart the importance of her message. She pointed up at the ceiling and collapsed as a cold voice invaded their minds.

_Leave now. I won’t obscure your passage. You have given me enough entertainment for the next few decades._

A soon as the voice faded, they were all left shivering in the stone passages as Scotty tried to locate them through the Captain’s now working communicator. As the passages melted from view they were surrounded by familiar silver sparks and transported back to the ship and to safety.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the aftermath  
> tw: mention of self harm

The Captain was almost at a loss. Almost. It was at times like these that he was glad for the Spock's emotional detachment. He started the log automatically but after a few times choking on words Spock had put a hand on his shoulder lightly and finished it for him. He knew how hard Kirk took it when a crew member was hurt on his watch. Especially one so young. There was nothing he could do to keep them from requesting to be assigned to the Enterprise when they passed all their tests, but damn, it hurt so much when they followed him so bravely and were injured, sometimes for no reason. In his earlier years of captaincy he would have gotten smashed on one of Scotty's brews or McCoy's secret stash. And they would have understood. But now it just made him feel worse. He knew they all knew the risk. He knew they came willingly, that they were trained for this. He knew they never blamed him.

He'd seen so much worse happen to his younger crew, and countless nights he'd kept himself awake thinking how he could have handled it differently, the body count only tallied by the official letters he had to write to their next of kin. So why did this situation bother him so much? Scotty would say it meant his heart still worked, probably. But this young girl with a past she would tell no one about was lying in a medically induced come hooked up to about five different machines. Her expression haunted him. The confusion, the betrayal, the anguish. He could only assume she had been close to her brother. She had somehow found herself on this planet with him in the past, and he had been taken away her. All he could find in the public files was that he had been on shore leave there, they had met up, he gone missing, and she had left the planet the next day. That was it. He would hack the more private files later, there had to be more information in there somewhere.

He didn’t even consider the fact that she might tell her himself, she had become such a closed off figure in his mind’s eye. She had certainly given off that impression anyway. She had lied about a few things. But he was exactly the kind of person to understand that. She had been running away from her past. He had read in some badly-translated Russian newspaper how her twin brother (her twin! that’s why they were so incredibly close), Dmitri, had run away to Starfleet as soon as he turned sixteen staying planetside, while she had run away to be the servant/helper/assistant to a Professor and embarked to some of the furthest colonies. The only things he could find about their parents was the obituary of their half-Vulcan mother, she had died too early, and several DUI’s in the name of their father. Then an official document, Tatiana had changed her name legally to DuBois after the ‘disappearance’ of her twin. He wouldn’t be surprised if their father had been abusive. Frank had been the same. No wonder they both ran. And they had done so at a younger age than he had.

Spock found him asleep, with his face on his PADD, a few hours later. He had written to Starfleet about the situation with faith that their permanent quarantine on the planet would be upheld. All scans were free of interference now and there had only been one life sign. They only found it when the scans had been specifically calculated and broadly enhanced. The psychic entity that had toyed with them had been the planet itself. There was no madman to be caught and taken to justice. There was just an unintelligible consciousness that could be dealt with later, and not by them. Some of Spock’s natural curiosity would no doubt resurface at an inconvenient moment, but for now it was enough to know that everyone was back on the ship safe, and they had gotten the closure. He mourned the colonists silently, alone, in front of his mother’s photograph. He knew that she would understand his jumbled thoughts the most and it calmed him to pretend he was speaking to her.

Spock had been to see the girl, she was in stable condition, and Chekov hadn't left her side. He was sprawled in a position that looked quite uncomfortable in a chair by the floating biobed, his head half on the mattress, holding the girl’s hand at the wrist, like he needed to feel her pulse, to know she was alive. Spock had wanted to wake him and tell him to go to his own quarters, but on second thought, if McCoy hadn't kicked him out already, there was probably reason enough to let him stay. He had become uncommonly attached, and upon reflection Spock assumed that being by her most likely calmed some of his anxiety and guilt. Chekov always took things so hard, such as that one time, the last day of Vulcan. He had been jumpy and anxious for weeks afterward. He couldn't look Spock in the eyes for at least a month. Spock tried to be forward with Chekov and tell him that he blamed himself more than he did anyone else, but it didn’t seem to help. So he decided to leave most of the ‘touchy-feely stuff’ to humans. He still wasn’t quite used to caring about the emotions of others, or, more accurately, remembering that they had emotions that sometimes they couldn’t handle on their own.

He had studied their faces thoughtfully; they both looked so much younger in their sleep, more vulnerable, especially Tatiana. He had referred to her that way in her mind after a few clipped conversations he had tried to initiate. He thought he understood now why she was so reluctant to talk, though he needed more data to know for sure. The captain, no doubt, would have found more information on her after such an incident, by legal or illegal means. But if the girl wanted her story to be known, she would tell it. He could only read her sorrow in the tightness of her face, even as she slept, and, with an uncharacteristic burst of anger at the world, in the faint white lines that could be glimpsed around her shoulder because of the awkwardly wide neckline of the medical gown.

Spock gently tugged the PADD from under the captain's head, Kirk turned over as he did, and Spock saw it had left a mark on his face. Humans were strange indeed, to be able to fall asleep like that. It was stranger to see the imprint of the device so clearly on the man’s skin, the synthetic leaving imprints on the organic. He had traced the straight lines down the curve of the captain’s cheek before he caught himself. He shook his head, leaving the room. As he dimmed the lights, turning his head back, he sighed, then tugged off Kirk's scuffed and dusty boots before leaving and closing the door behind him. The first day after such a mission was always the worst for the captain. Spock resolved to make some time for a game of chess. That usually helped clear the both their minds.


	5. Chapter 5

She awoke in darkness. Tatiana blinked her eyes a few times, adjusting. She could see lights? They blinked steadily, and there was a steady beeping, familiar but foreign. It took half a minute for her to recognize it as a heart monitor, and she berated herself for it. She was a medical officer, for crying out loud!

Her hands clenched involuntarily. She felt a warm hand in hers. Dima! Of course he was here, though usually she was the one holding his hand in a hospital as he lay unconscious after another impulsive escapade. She reached out her free hand to his psi points, sinking, with unusual difficulty, into the mindset needed for the meld. She needed to feel his mind. She needed that comfort right now.

She fell into his mind, floating in dreams, but the landscape was unfamiliar. There was something off. His mind felt different when he was asleep, but never like this. She was hit with a mental image: her own face, her body being thrown against a transparent wall. Flashes of desperation, and guilt, oh so much guilt. Her features shifted, blurred, and suddenly she came face to face with Amanda Grayson. She reached out her arm, silver sparks enfolding her frame, then blinked out of existence as a wave of guilt dragged her under. _Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa..._

She jerked her hand away, severing contact. There was a ringing in her ears, and tears on her cheeks. Her heart was jack hammering in her chest, and as the frantic beeping of the heart monitor increased, frantic footsteps drew nearer. She buried her head in her hands as someone burst into the room and turned the lights to full.

"She's awake!"

The next minutes were a blur of tests, of fingers prodding at her, flashes of pain, and between it all, Chekov's confused face. Of course it had been him. The naïve little boy. Confused and disoriented.

"Извините... Извините меня," (I'm sorry, forgive me) she muttered, clutching at his hand. "Mea maxima culpa."

McCoy barked something at her, and she shook her head. There was still ringing in her ears. Chekov answered. How could she have mistaken him for her brother? His blonde curls for Dima's unruly brown locks. She found her hand involuntarily reaching up to touch them, but aborted the motion before she gave herself away. Fresh tears prickled her vision. He was dead, wasn't he? There was no way he wouldn't be here if he was alive. Even his own injuries wouldn't have held him back.

She tried to curl into herself and cried out as she aggravated injuries she could barely remember getting. McCoy's angryworried face swam at the edge of her vision, pushing her back on the bed. His voice was too loud. She tried to cover her ears but didn't want to let go of his hand. He wasn't Dima, but she'd gone too long without contact, and her body, betrayer, craved it.

"Тише, пожалуйста..." (Quieter, please)

She could hear Chekov translating and cursed herself for slipping back into Russian now, of all times. She hear McCoy say something about shock, about her brain reverting to its native tongue, citing a relapse into her traumatic past. So Kirk had looked into her records. She hadn't expect any less of him. Frankly, she was surprised he hadn't done so sooner.

She tried to say something, to apologize, but was shushed by the nurse while McCoy and Chekov argued about something. She lay back down on the pillow and closed her eyes, wincing as the nurse did something else to her side.

"Her ribs are healing up nicely-"

"You should go back to your quarters-"

"She needs someone-"

Ragged bits of conversation swirled around her.

"What she's been through-"

"And her brother-"

"Damnit man, _I'm_ the doctor here-"

She could feel herself slipping back under, but she needed to say something. What did she need to say? The hand was slipping out of hers. She fumbled, fingers too weak to keep a good grip.

"Останьтесь, пожалуйста," (Stay, please) she managed to get out, and as the steady pressure of his hand returned, she let herself slip away. She felt something at her temple, a warm touch as the darkness welcomed her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might make this longer, but this was all I could get out tonight... Trying to get back into the habit of writing


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's short because it's leading up to her story, and I want that to have it's own chapter.

The Captain and his First Officer were in the medical wing of the ship, awaiting McCoy and his patient, who they had to question. Well, question would be the wrong word. They needed to know whatever she knew about this planet and the consciousness of contained, and after some deliberation on Kirk's part, Spock finally convinced him that it would be better to do it sooner rather than later, and the Captain had to agree. Especially since he didn't want her to get in trouble for lying to him in the first place. He would have to get Spock to leave that out of the official report somehow. Though he knew the Vulcan wouldn't like that, somehow Kirk got the feeling that this time Spock wouldn't put up too much of a fuss.

McCoy finally appeared, waving them into one of the private rooms in the wing with his usual scowl. They didn't want anything sensitive to get out, and McCoy threatened to tear their ears off (Spock's in particular) if they made Tatiana any more uncomfortable than he deemed appropriate. Or in any way worsened her already fragile mental/emotional state.

Chekov was in the room when they entered, looking slightly sheepish but determined. He had been with her as often as he possibly could manage it, and Kirk had given him the lighter Delta shift for a few weeks while they all re-adjusted.

Spock quirked his eyebrow at Kirk, 'should we let him stay?' and Kirk shrugged his shoulders and flicked his eyes at Tatiana in the floating bio-bed, still hooked up to machines, but to a lot less than last time, 'let's see how she is first.'

Tatiana noticed their silent conversation and sat up a bit, promoting the bed's top half to move higher. She grabbed at Chekov's hand without looking down, fingers shaking as they grasped at his, "Let him stay?" She asked, half-question, half-statement. Chekov looked up at her like she'd risen the sun.

Spock and Kirk exchanged glances and the first officer spoke for them both, "Ensign Chekov technically doesn't have the clearance, but he is obviously beneficial, so we will let it... slide."

Kirk's eyes widened a bit at the turn of phrase (as well as its clumsy delivery), and lines appeared around his eyes as he suppressed a smile.

McCoy cleared his throat from where he stood in the corner of the room, scowling a lot less than he had been a few minutes ago, "Beneficial? My ass. The kid's been here almost 24/7, and the only thing that's kept me from kicking him out is that her vitals keep going wonky when I do. And she isn't even awake when I try! You green-blooded hobgoblins and your damned telepathy."

Chekov blushed deeply, bowing his head, and Tatiana's mouth twitched involuntarily as she unconsciously tightened her grip on his hand.

Kirk lifted a hand to forestall whatever monotone rebuke Spock was preparing to spit at the doctor.

"Not now, you two can bicker all you want later." He turned to Tatiana expectantly. “I do believe you have a story to tell us, Officer.” He decided the formal approach would help her keep her distance, emotionally.

Tatiana squeezed Chekov’s hand infinitesimally as she spoke, voice becoming steadier as she went on, “Alright. Just try not to interrupt me too much. If I stop I may not be able to finish.”

Kirk nodded and leaned back against the wall to show he was ready. Tatiana glanced down at her hands then began to speak.


	7. Chapter 7

_“Two children were born on the same day, same hospital, same room, minutes apart. They lost their mother on the same day, their grief spilling through a mutual bond that they couldn’t even completely blame on a Vulcan grandparent. Their thoughts ran along the same paths, making the same turns and assumptions, finishing each other’s thoughts. They did everything together, reading, homework, playing outside in the woods around their childhood home, finding new places to hide when their father was drunk and his temper reared its ugly head._

_“They found comfort and solace in each other’s presence, co-conspirators in their petty crimes, partners in evasion when their father was angry (which was often), and one mind when it came to their imaginary worlds. They would travel to far planets, explore jungles of stone and diamond waterfalls saving whoever was in trouble from Romulan invasion, tsunamis, carnivorous vines and whatever else they could think of, adding in whatever they had been reading together, be it plots from War and Peace, characters from Tolkien, or technology from the new series The Mysteries of the S’orenn Nebula._

_“But these worlds could not be a safe haven for them much longer. Their father was getting worse, abandoning his repair shop more and more, the brother and sister were plunged headfirst into the worst parts of adulthood. They took over the shop, the boy especially was a fast learner and he had watched his father work in the better days, helped him out. Now he was helping his sister out, running out for their fast food dinner while she sat up to her elbows in engine grease trying to force the impulse drive of a stubborn Impala back into alignment and having to dart back inside every half an hour or so to check on their father, make sure he had’t choked on his own vomit or messed with their equipment inside._

_“Soon enough it became to much for him. When their father was furious she would evade argument, taking any abuse lying down, because fighting back would just make him angrier. They had dropped out of school anyway so no-one was there to wonder about greenish bruises and cuts from broken glass that sometimes were not even intentional. But the brother began to fight back. He had shot up one and a half feet and could not take insult or injury without retaliating in kind. Obviously this just made it worse, and he enlisted in Starfleet the day of his sixteenth birthday. He realised just what he was doing to his sister, his twin, and hated it, but she stood by him and almost forced him into it. He saw that whenever they fought, he just made it worse for her and their father saw it too. The brother would take punches and jump right back up, but if his sister was hurt, their father would win another round._

_“They trained together, taking long week-ends off to go to the gym and spar, run and learn self-defense. He knew he would do all this in the Academy, but he wanted to be ready and he wanted his sister to be able to protect herself in the worst situations, and as she was just as excited as he was about his enlistment, he wanted to spend as much time together as possible. They quizzed each other on the various parts of the regulation starships, he was going into engineering. It was the logical choice seeing how much time they had spent in the shop and all the experience they had acquired. They spent a few extra credits in communication with distant relatives on Vulcan, which was mostly a disaster. Their grand-father’s nephews were civil, their cousins distant but some were outright hostile. Only their great-aunt, T’rena, took interest in them, schooling them on how to enter a version of the healing trance and a weaker type of the mind-meld once she realised their minds retained some of the Vulcan physiology. They became close to T’rena over those few months and were offered a place in her home where they ever in the sector. They were never able to take her up on that offer, and you know why._

_“But soon the day came and he had to go, taking a few books but leaving her his favorite jacket, which smelled of dust and grease and an aftershave he had just started using. They shared grief through their bond, but there was also anticipation, for even as the brother applied for Starfleet the sister had found a Vulcan scientist who needed an assistant. He traveled between planets helping new colonists and researching and she had learned Vulcan, Klingon and a few other languages when he worked in the shop. They had learned Standard together very early in their life from their mother before she died, but their father insisted they would never need to leave their small county not to mention Russia, so they were very careful to only speak Russian at home. She would have to learn the basics of being a medic on the fly, but she was still slightly worried how her father would put up without them both. Her brother would brush that off and say that wasn’t their problem at all._

_“After a long hug and many goodbyes, reminders, warnings, everything overflowing with emotion, he left. She had never been so far away from him for so long since that elementary school field trip to the moon that he managed to sneak into without their father’s permission and as he walked away she felt their emotions, a lifeline, stretching and then suddenly breaking and snapping back at her as she lost sight of him. She occupied herself for the rest of the day in the shop, closing up at around five and was about to head up to town for dinner when their father woke up from his drunken stupor and demanded more alcohol._

_“When he discovered her brother was gone he was furious. She had not seen it this bad since last year when she had to go to the hospital with four broken ribs and her brother didn’t tell her that he had dislocated his shoulder until they got there. They didn’t have to worry about explaining, she talked to the nurse, some minor compulsion, and no questions were asked about their little ‘rock climbing trip’ gone wrong. Before he could do her much harm she knocked him out. Her own father, with a wrench taken from the wall and locked him in the garage closet, giving him a dose of the soporific cough medicine left over from her last winter’s bronchitis. Not very elegant, true, but they hadn’t had time to experiment with the nerve pinch and she didn’t want to rely on that in such a situation. Then she put herself into a healing trance for an hour to counteract what she suspected was a minor concussion and waited._

_“As soon as she awoke she grabbed her bag and their emergency stash of credits behind the bookshelf and ran. She had no time to think about what would happen to their father, he was on his own. She was on her own and she had to think about herself. They were all on their own, and she reached unconsciously for her brother’s response to her handling of the situation, but he wasn't there. She was completely and utterly alone. But now was not the moment to let her emotions take control. She shook her head and schooled her thoughts, locking away the emotion for later examination. She was in what he would call a ‘situation’. He would have retorted that this was way less than a situation. ‘Situations’ was like that one time when he ended up backed into a dead-end alley in a mob boss’ quadrant with a stolen rabbit sculpture of incredible value. She pushed that thought aside as well, there was no time for fond recollections._

_“She found an internet cafe and with a second-hand PADD scavenged as payment for a fixed holo contacted the Vulcan professor asking him how soon he could be planetside. She could buy a flight to the Moon perhaps, but her budget was limited. The professor had liked her so much during their virtual interview that he wanted her to join him as soon as possible, but she hadn’t been one hundred percent sure until now. That was one pro to her situation: it was simple and straightforward. Perhaps the professor had liked her because of her knowledge of Vulcan and its customs? Her accent was passable, T’rena had seen to that._

_“Time with the Professor passed quickly. She picked up some xenobiology, since that was his primary focus and through many nights hunched over her PADD learned even more than he could have shown her, among these how to treat anything from the Ankaran flu to a fractured tibia. She had picked up some Talaxian on Rahaelgupta, the vegetation there was truly remarkable but sadly many of the colonists weren’t getting enough of the right nutrients and their exo-skeletons were rupturing. They did what they could with what with their bio-nutrient supplements and called in ‘back-up’ from a ‘fleet ship passing through the sector who picked up some ZX-42 for the poor colonists. Each individual language, planet, experience and the numerous hurts and ills of the colonists would take me too long to describe._

_“I tried to communicate with my brother but something must have been interfering. The first time I heard from him was three years into his training when he graduated from the Academy. The over-achiever. Of course he would find a way to get around the requirement overload and take all the classes at once. He did work best under stress. He told me he was an engineer on a ship called the USS Titan with one of the most racially diverse crews. He was all enthusiasm and was also quite confused that he hadn’t heard from me. But both of us had been so busy and learning so much that we had quite gotten carried away. He told me he had shore leave soon, and I made sure the Professor chose a planet close to where the Titan was going to be. I wrote (well when I say wrote I mean recorded a message) him back right away. And surely I had stayed up all night composing my message and listening to his again and again. I had tried to lock away everything about my former life when I joined the professor yet everything came back when I heard his voice again._

_“Shore leave was wonderful. We talked non-stop, telling each other about all the places we had seen, all the people we had met, all the illegal moonshine we had fermented (him, not me) and all the souvenirs we had gotten from grateful colonists (mostly me). I had acquired sundry items: woven jewelry, worn down stones, sea glass and a handful of small gadgets, including a small Bajoran dagger and a radio the size of my fingernail that could be attached to the outer shell of the ear. The planet, 72 Pegasi D, was a paradise, tropical white beaches and clear lavender oceans. The colony the Professor was investigating lived in stucco communal houses, arranged almost like bee-hives._

_“He and I explored, climbing the orange clay cliffs, knowing exactly when the other needed a hand then found some old ruins that looked as though they were made of malachite. Working in tandem we cleared the vines that obscured the entrance and plunged inside. When we entered them we came to the conclusion that it was a labyrinth. The path was twisted and confusing, but it did not diverge, there were no dead ends or forks. This calmed my anxiety a bit, labyrinths are easy to get out of, you simply have to keep going until you get back out. But still something itched at the edge of my mind as if I was seeing a fragment of something in my peripheral vision but when I turned to look at it directly there was nothing there. I kept seeing bits of circuitry in the green of the walls that disappeared at second glance._

_“We should have turned right back around and left, but we did not. And at that point if we'd tried we might not have been able to. Farther and farther we went and as the sky grew darker the walls began to glow. The closer to the center of the labyrinth we got the brighter the light became._

She broke off, emotionless mask starting to slip. "There's not much more to tell. My memory gets hazy. I can only remember him yelling for me to get out, begging, pleading, and after I got back out the whole structure disappeared. I tried talking to the Professor about it, but he knew of no ruins. It was as if the whole thing never existed, never happened. The only proof I had was his disappearance. And after all the questioning I'd almost convinced myself it was some hallucination and Dima hadn't vanished in that hellish labyrinth after all."

"He had that same idiotic self-sacrificing streak as you, Captain, the same cocky confidence and refusal to believe in no-win scenarios." She grinned ruefully. "Too hasty, never backing down, letting emotion govern freely."

She grabbed at Spock's sleeve spastically, "I never should have left him," she looked him straight in the eye, and even the unflappable Vulcan fidgeted under her manic gaze. "Never let him go! You hear me?" Spock's slight nod seemed to satisfy her, and her eyes became less wild.

"If I had been there, by his side, all those years... I shouldn't have let emotion get in the way!" She sobbed, curling into herself. The rest in the room stood still, transfixed. "I was always his more rational half, I should have thought of something! Not let him throw himself into the jaws of death to let me make an escape I only managed because that fucking planet ALLOWED me!" She pounded her fist weakly on her thigh.

"Never let him do that for you." Once again she fixated on Spock. "Promise me you won't lose him like that. Promise!" Half-way between grabbing his sleeve again she realized what she was doing and with an expression of embarrassed and shocked horror sat back onto the slightly rocking bio bed, dissolving back into tears.

The others took this as a cue to leave, especially when they saw McCoy's patented death glare. You can't say he wasn't protective of his patients, and no-one on the ship would say so out loud, but he had a soft spot for new recruits.

On his way out Spock leaned down to brush his hand against her hair in an uncharacteristically gentle gesture, and, with a voice raw with emotion, whispered, "I promise, taluhk."

Only when the rest had left the room, Kirk with his hand on his first officer's shoulder for support, did Chekov allow himself to hug her. She didn't resist and let herself be held, perhaps for the first time in years, and found quiet comfort in his warm, solid form.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *talukh - precious (Vulcan term of endearment)
> 
> A/N: I'm sorry, I literally have no idea what's going on with this story. I just found the ending dialogue that I'd written maybe more than a year ago even, and I don't really have the energy to wrap it up properly, so sorry for the abrupt ending


End file.
